Walls Falling
by J9
Summary: Paint splatters and dust smudges and attraction, oh my....Scuba Doobie Doo missing scenes, W/S


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Title: Walls Falling

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Author: Jeanine (jeanine@iol.ie)

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Rating: PG

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Pairing: Sara/Warrick

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Spoilers: _Scuba-Doobie-Doo _missing scenes. 

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Feedback: Makes my day

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Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.

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Archive: At my site Checkmate () , Fanfiction.net; anywhere else, please ask.

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Summary: Paints splatters and dust smudges and attraction, oh my…

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Three sledgehammers crashed into three different points in three different walls, and the constant thought in the back of Warrick's mind as the thumps continue at irregular intervals all around him was the hope that someone remembered to pack some Advil in their field kits. They were sure as hell going to need them when this was over, though with the luck they were having thus far, they might end up needing something quite a bit stronger. 

The thought of the lack of success they were having with the case made Warrick pound into the wall just a little bit harder, and while Grissom didn't say anything to him, nonetheless the younger man heard the supervisor's voice in his head, telling him to go a little easier, that he might end up destroying crucial evidence. Obedient as ever to Grissom, even if this Grissom was a figment of his imagination, he shifted his focus slightly, and instead of thinking of the case, tried to think of something else, anything else. 

As it turned out, distraction was closer than he thought, because a female sneeze erupted behind him at that very moment, and he turned to see Sara holding her hand over her mouth, a pile of dusty insulation at her feet. "You ok?" he asked, because Grissom hadn't turned around, fully intent on his work, and Sara nodded, flashing him a quick gap toothed grin before turning back to her wall. 

He followed her example, but allowed his mind to wander back on the facts of this case, about how, despite the lack of success, he and Sara had been working together on it from the start. And unlike some of their earlier cases, there had been no disagreements, no cross words, just two CSIs, working together as a team, a solid unit. If you'd told him a year ago that things would shake down like that, he'd have been looking behind you for the men in white coats coming to take you away, but time had proven to be a great healer, and he knew that he hardly ever thought about their inauspicious beginnings, the mistrust between them. He couldn't speak for her but he had a notion from the way she looked at him, the way she acted around him, that she didn't hold a grudge either. 

Somewhere along the line, from that rocky start, they'd become friends. 

If you'd asked him before this case, that's what he would have said. 

Except that now he wasn't so sure. 

His mind kept drifting back to the CSI lab, to walking in there with a big box of chainsaws, seeing her there, white jump-suit to match his, hair pinned up sensibly, looking at the contents of the box with great interest. "How long did Firearms give us these for?"

He knew she wasn't going to like the answer any more than he did. "Twenty-four hours, then we've got to get them back. Clean." It was the last word that was the problem, but she took it a hell of a lot better than he had. 

"Let's do it," was all she'd said, and they'd got down to business, mixing paint and putting it into trays, dipping each electric saw in in turn, spraying the paint onto plexi-glass. They'd made sure to observe proper safety protocol, gowned and gloved up, goggles and facemasks firmly in place; he'd even pumped up the radio in an effort to drown out the noise of the saws, double checking the door to make sure that it was firmly shut as well. All they'd needed was for the noise to drift out and get them into trouble.

Between the work and the noise, they hadn't spoken until every saw had been tested, Sara finishing first, dropping her saw and removing her headgear and gloves with a relieved sigh. Warrick had switched his last saw off a minute later, dropping it just as happily, his arms aching from the effort. He'd looked around him, observing the screens of plexi-glass, the paint splatters all over them. "Done," he'd pronounced, and there'd been a groan from behind him. 

"At last," she'd said, any further words cut off by a gasp. He'd turned quickly when he heard her groan, wondering if she'd hurt herself somehow, if she was all right, but he'd still had the saw in his hand, and some of the residual paint on the blade had flown off, splattering across her upper right shoulder. He hadn't realised she was so close to him, hadn't realised that there was that much paint still on the blade, and he'd later realised that even if he had, he still would have turned as quickly as he did; it had been pure instinct. 

He'd been pretty sure in the split second it took for her to stare down at the paint now decorating her jump-suit then look up at him, that _her _first instinct was going to be to throw something at him, and considering the amount of hardware lying around, he'd considered turning tail and running, but he'd stood his ground. She'd looked up at him slowly, and he knew that his emotions must have been written all over his face. She'd held his gaze for a long moment, then she'd burst out laughing. 

Releasing a breath he hadn't even known that he'd been holding, he'd joined her in her laughter, as the thought had suddenly come to him that he didn't think he'd ever seen her laugh like that, with such abandon, head thrown back, shoulders shaking, cheeks turning the same colour as the paint on her suit. Taking the offending area in hand, pulling it away from her chest, nose wrinkling as she looked down at it. "Yuck," she'd giggled, the laughter never abating, and he'd put down the saw, holding his hands up. 

"I didn't mean to do that," he'd begun, and she'd shaken her head, still laughing.

"Forget about it," she'd said, dropping the material, and meeting his gaze, lifting one hand to her cheek, pushing back an errant strand of hair. Her smile faded suddenly, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer. "You know what this reminds me of?"

He'd tilted his head to one side, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning back against the bench behind him. "What?"

"One time, I think it was my junior year in high school, my parents decided to spend the entire month of January redecorating the B&B," she'd begun, and that had been the point where he interrupted her. 

"Your parents own a B&B?" He hadn't known that about her, didn't think that he'd ever heard her mention her family before. He'd known that she was from California, San Francisco he thought, and he'd known that she'd gone to Harvard, but not much else; the personal life of Sara Sidle very much a mystery to him, a mystery, he'd realised then, that he wouldn't mind finding out a little more about. A lot more about. 

She'd nodded, completely unaffected by his question. "Yeah, in Tamales Bay, about ninety minutes out of San Francisco. It's not a big place I guess, three stories, and we lived on the third. Guestrooms on the second, living room, kitchen, everything like that on the ground floor. Anyway, Mom and Dad decided that they wanted to sharpen up the image of the place, and of course, we had to do it. They don't believe in paying someone for what we can do ourselves." She'd rolled her eyes as she spoke, her tone dry, and he'd chuckled, leaving her chuckling too. "So, for about a month, every day after school, every weekend, that's what we did, painted every room in the house. The last room, it was one of the guest bedrooms, and once they got started, they wanted to finish it in one fell swoop. So we stayed up…" She'd laughing in earnest as she'd told the story, barely able to get the words out. "God, it must've been until about three in the morning, painting. Because you see, my dad got a little funny, or so he thought, and he decided that he'd start a paint fight."

Warrick's eyes had widened, trying to imagine his Grams doing something like that, and failing utterly. Grams had run a strict household, and from what he knew of Sara, he would have bet every last dollar he had that she'd come from that kind of household as well. Apparently not. 

"You should have seen us Warrick," she'd continued. "There was paint everywhere, most of it on me. I had hair down to my waist at the time-" Warrick had blinked, trying to picture that. "And I think I had an entire can of Sunrise Ochre in it. It took hours to wash it all out." She chuckled again, tucking that lock of hair back behind her ear again. "I haven't thought about that in years," she'd concluded, her voice trailing off, gaze sliding away from him, down to the floor.

Warrick had stared at her for a long moment, letting her have her memories, letting her enjoy them, enjoying the look on her face while she did so. The lab was silent save for their breathing, and when she looked back up at him again, her cheeks were slightly pink, apart from one particular spot. "Well, it's not Sunrise Ochre, but some things never change."

She'd frowned, not understanding, and he'd lifted his finger, pointing to her right cheek. "You've got a little, uh-" 

She'd nodded in understanding, lifting her hand to her cheek, rubbing at the bright red spot there. "Gone?" she'd asked, and he'd chuckled to himself, because the only thing she'd done was smear it worse. 

"Not exactly," he'd murmured, looking around him on the bench for a cloth. When he'd found none, he'd simply shrugged, stepping towards her. "Hold still," he'd ordered, stepping as close to her as he could, taking her chin firmly in his right hand, rubbing at the offending spot with his left. He was as gentle as possible, frowning in concentration as the paint vanished bit by bit. "All done," he'd said softly when he'd finished, and it had been only then, when he'd looked into her face, that his eyes had met hers, and he'd realised just how close they were standing to one another, close enough to feel her warm breath on his face, close enough that his breath ruffled the strands of her hair. It would have been the easiest thing in the world, he knew, for him to lean forwards, brush his lips against hers, and as he'd stood looking down at her, looked into her eyes, he'd known, with a bone-deep certainty, that she wouldn't have pushed him away. 

He'd leaned in towards her, and wonder of wonders, she'd been leaning closer to him as well, but right at that moment, they'd heard a hand jiggling the handle of the door, and they'd sprung apart hastily, putting as much distance as they could between them when Grissom entered, his nose buried in a newspaper covered in what looked for all the world like the blood spatter from the walls of the apartment. He'd been so intent on looking at the paper, explaining what Cliff Renteria had shown him that he hadn't noticed any strange atmosphere in the room, and Warrick had done his best to keep his attention on the matters at hand, not a hard job considering what Grissom was telling them. It looked like their case was going nowhere, and then Greg had come in with the DNA results, which had led them here, albeit in a convoluted fashion, knocking down walls. 

Things had become interesting when Brass walked in with Alison Scott in tow, and Warrick had managed to escape for a while, taking her back to the lab, taking a blood test. On his return, he'd found Grissom and Sara in the manager's apartment, working on knocking down his walls, and with barely a nod from Grissom and a grin from Sara, he'd joined them. His attention had drifted, he admitted that, but he came back to reality with a start when he realised that there was a hollow section in the wall. He'd called out his find, knowing how important it could be, and Grissom and Sara had come over to him, watching him as he'd used a hand held cutter to cut away the section. They all jumped a mile in the air when instead of a body, an ironing board fell out instead, and Warrick couldn't keep his feelings back. "Damn. Are we in the wrong apartment again?" he wondered, frustration laced in every syllable, and he knew that it wasn't just the case that had him that way. He could sense Sara behind him, could imagine the little smile playing around the corners of her lips, but he didn't want to turn around to see it, not with Grissom doing a slow burn beside him. 

With an order to start on the floorboards, Grissom walked outside, leaving Warrick and Sara alone. Their eyes met, and they exchanged tight, quick grins, which dissolved into small chuckles. "We are nowhere," Warrick observed, one hand on the ironing board, the other running through his hair. 

"We'll get there," came Sara's quiet response, and Warrick just gave her a look, one of those raised eyebrow looks, and she looked down, sighing. When she looked up, her gaze followed the direction Grissom had gone in. "You think one of us-"

"And it should be you." The words had come out of Warrick's mouth before he even thought about them. "He'll listen to you."

"You just don't want to face him," she replied, but her eyes were sparkling, and he knew she was only teasing. 

"I outrank you," he pointed out, teasing her back. "Want me to make it an order?"

She held up her hands, already moving towards the door. "I'm going, I'm going…"

He watched her go, tracing the outline of her body, staring after her long after she'd left, before shaking himself, looking around him trying to figure out where he was going to start with the floorboards. Going to the field kits in the corner of the room, he looked around all of them for a crowbar with which to force up the wood, knowing that they'd brought one with them. It didn't appear to be with the rest of their equipment though, and he groaned, knowing that it must have been left in the car. Shaking his head in disgust, he made his way out to the front of the building, freezing when he saw Grissom and Sara talking quietly. He couldn't hear what they said because the doors were closed, but he could see them standing close to one another, giving off a tangible air of intimacy, something that he'd never seen from them before, something that he wasn't so sure he wanted to interrupt. As he watched, Sara reached out, touching Grissom's cheek, her hand lingering there, and Warrick's heart did a funny little jerk in his chest as he recalled how soft her skin had been against his when he'd done the exact same thing for her. He swallowed hard against the surge of emotion rising up in his throat, something that felt very much like jealousy, turning on his heel and heading back to the apartment. The crow bar could wait. 

He had to admit that he was surprised by the strength of his reaction to seeing the two of them together like that. After all, it wasn't completely unexpected. He'd suspected that Sara had a crush on Grissom for a long time, and although he wasn't entirely sure whether Grissom reciprocated those feelings, he didn't think that the other man would be adverse to the idea of something happening between them. After all, Sara was something pretty special - how would anyone not want to get to know her better?

The only thing that surprised him in this whole thing was that he'd figured out his feelings the same time that it looked as if Sara had figured out hers for Grissom, sometime after they'd had their little moment in the lab. Nothing like an encounter with another man, he thought bitterly, to have her moving in the direction of her true love. 

He hadn't been back there long when he heard the door open, heard Sara's footsteps entering, but he kept his back to her, squatting down beside the field kits, ostensibly looking for the crow bar. He didn't quite trust himself to face her, thinking those thoughts, so he concentrated on the equipment, on building up the walls around his heart again. "You haven't started yet?" she asked, her tone still light and teasing, and he straightened up, looking at her, then back down at the pile of equipment, grimacing. 

"Lack of crowbar," he pointed out and she shared in his expression. 

"Didn't we bring one with us?"

"Think so. I'm just wondering if there's any point in even looking anymore." Suddenly, he wasn't sure if he was talking about the case, or about breaking down walls, actual walls or the ones they'd both built up around themselves, or something entirely different. He levelled his gaze on her, looking into her eyes, and she bit her lip, looking down for a second, then back up at him. 

"Never give up, right?" She lifted an eyebrow, staring him down with equal intensity. "I thought that was something we had in common." He suddenly remembered firing words like that at her, "You just don't quit do you?" when they were investigating a robbery homicide, a man who'd killed his brother over money worries; words that she'd fired back at him when he was trying to disprove her theory of spontaneous human combustion. He hadn't noticed the similarity of those words until now. 

He shrugged. "Sometimes, you have to." He looked at her a moment longer, then looked down, heard her shift her feet. "Where's Grissom?" he asked, noting how his inflection changed slightly as he said the other man's name, knowing that she wouldn't miss it either. 

He looked up at her and the flicker of something in her eyes told him that she hadn't missed it, but that she wasn't going to enquire about it. "He's washing up I think," she told him. "You don't notice it in here, but we're all covered in dust."

The image of her touching Grissom's cheek played in his mind as he heard the possible explanation, and when he turned back to her, it took all his self-control not to start in surprise. She'd moved closer to him, so that she was standing right beside him, and he hadn't noticed a thing. "That so?" he asked, and she nodded. 

"Um-hmm," she murmured, that same small smile on her lips. "Matter of fact, you've got some yourself." Reaching up, she touched his cheek gently, her touch feather light, lingering only briefly before sliding past his cheek, up to the back of his head. 

He found himself smiling, fancied that he could hear dust falling, walls crumbling around them. "Oh, I do, do I?"

"Yep?"

"Where?"

"Right here…" Standing on her toes, she was able to press her lips to his, a fleeting chaste kiss, which she pulled away from quickly. By that time though, his hands had settled on her hips and he wasn't going to let her get away so easily, pulling her close for another kiss. 

He released her quickly when he heard footsteps, like someone running, coming down the hall, and once more, they sprang apart just before Grissom came in, looking more invigorated than they'd seen him since the case started. "Forget the floorboards," he said. "We've got him."

They stared at him, then at each other, then back to Grissom, who muttered something about lack of hot water and going down to the basement, leaving them with an order to pack up the equipment. They worked in silence until they were standing at the jeep, the doors closed, the equipment inside. 

"So," Sara said finally. "Breakfast sound good to you?"

Warrick was nodding until he remembered something. "I said I'd meet Nick." She nodded, and he continued, "You want to come with?"

She considered it with a small smile. "Sure," she agreed. "But y'know, I think my car is acting up. You couldn't give me a ride home afterwards could you?" 

He grinned, both at the contrivance, and with the blatant insincerity with which it was offered. Still though, he wasn't going to turn it down. "I think I can handle that," he said, and she nodded, brushing past him before going back into the building. He watched her go, already looking forward to the conversation after breakfast, looking forward to helping a few more walls between them fall down. 


End file.
